Amazing what you stumble on YouTube.
Author: Derek
Goals For 2022 – Or Not
I’ve been putting what my goals are for the upcoming year for the last couple of years. I was tempted to forgo it this year. Mostly because I need to focus on one overriding goal this year. My weight. I’ve kinda ballooned over the last 20 months. Yes, there were extenuating circumstances. To a degree. However, at the end of the day, I’m responsible for me.
So, this year, my single goal is to get back down to 200. This is going to be a long, hard slog, but I need to. My dad had a heart attack in his mid-thirties. Due to the hospital food and therapy, he slimmed down significantly. Much as I did when I started my own journey. Over the next two decades, his weight steadily increased. I’m not going to cast aspersions. Weight loss is hard when it’s your single focus. And my father had a lot things taking up his attention. Moreover, while I don’t think his weight significantly contributed to his cancer, it had to make things more difficult in treatment.
There are many ways I want to be like my dad. This is not one of them.
This year, I’m working to 200. Not sure if I will post my progress. Still debating.
Monday Fiction – Zombie Strike Part 10 Chapter 103
Odessa, Ukraine; 4 October 2011, 1300 hours local; Countdown: 2 months, 27 days
Quentin McLintock dropped the empty magazine out of his pistol and quickly slammed another home. He hit the slide release and brought the pistol back up. Two rounds of 10mm brought the zombie down. It was just a bit too close. Seraph groaned in pain behind him. If Quentin didn’t link back up with the rest of the team, she was going to bleed out. Assuming he could survive the next few minutes.
"Matt, where are you guys?" Quentin asked over the radio. The Truth was obviously very annoyed with Zombie Strike for going after its close-held secrets. They pretty much cleared out Odessa’s downtown and brought in hordes of zombies with minion controllers. Just to add fun, they also brought gollums and a group of sorcerers. It was a gollum’s axe responsible for the nasty gash in Seraph’s midsection. Maybe if that vision hadn’t sucked all of Zombie Strike in, they would have been prepared for the ambush. As it was, Quentin, Seraph, Sport, and Seraph’s French agent, Marc had been split off from the rest of the team.
"I have no clue," Mateo answered, "Everything’s in Cyrillic. We could be a block from you, we could be a mile. I hate these old cities." Quentin looked around him. His little team found cover behind the wreckage of some construction equipment. The minion controlling the small horde in front of Quentin actually melted a bulldozer with a beam from his artifact. Unfortunately for the minion, he couldn’t generate a blast that powerful and keep up a shield. Sport’s slug nearly decapitated the minion.
"Seraph’s hurt bad," Quentin reported. He looked around. "Matt, can you see that church spire about fifty feet up with the gilded cross?"
"Looks brand-new?" Matt asked, "Yeah, it’s to my ten o’clock, maybe a couple of hundred yards." Quentin consulted the map on the PDA strapped to his forearm and did some quick calculations.
"I think we’re about six blocks west of you," Quentin said, "Can you get to us? I don’t want to move Seraph if at possible." There was a moment of tense silence.
"Yeah, the chief thinks so. Hole up and see if you can think up an extract," Mateo answered. Quentin let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He looked down at the beautiful woman. She looked so weak holding the blood soaked bandage to her side.
"Marc, you and Sport keep that horde off of us," Quentin said. The Frenchman looked at Quentin with wide eyes.
"Are you mad?" Marc asked, "You want me to fight the undead with this?" He shook the Glock 17 Sport handed him earlier. Quentin grabbed the man by the front of his shirt and lifted him off the ground.
"Yes with that pistol, and when that runs out, either find another or pick up a stone to throw at them. You will fight them until you are dead or we’re extracted, do you understand me?" Marc paled as his eyes locked onto Quentin’s cold dark eyes. The French agent swallowed hard and wordlessly nodded. Quentin released him and bent down to Seraph.
"Hold on Seraph, help’s on the way," Quentin said quietly, stroking the woman’s hair. She looked up and gave him a mirthless smile.
"You think even your pill pusher can fix this up?" she asked, every word wracking her form with pain.
"He’s dealt with worse," Quentin said, trying to look confident. He looked down at his PDA. How were they supposed to get everyone out of this city? They’d driven into the city in Seraph’s huge, slightly armored SUV. From some pirated television signals, Quentin saw most of the downtown was flooded with groups of undead. They were trapped between the Black Sea and zombies. How were they going to get out? As he stared at the map, the solution smacked him in the face.
"Quentin, hold your fire," Mateo said, startling the big man out of his thoughts, "We’re coming up your back." Quentin looked up as Chief Stahl and The Steve trotted over from a building corner. Chief Stahl moved up to help Sport and Marc. The Steve hands were already yanking all sorts of medical gear as he kneeled down next to Seraph.
"Got this dude. Don’t worry. The Steve will fix up your lady friend good," The Steve said, his trademark smile plastered on his face as inspected the wound. The Steve thumbed back to where the rest of the team was trotting up. "Dude, the boss is going to need you to figure out how we’re going to get out of here." Quentin nodded, unhappy about leaving Seraph. It was his fault that she was hurt. If he’d been faster taking down that gollum, it would never have managed to get a piece of her. That didn’t mean The Steve was wrong. Quentin got up and walked over to Mateo.
"You come up with a solution?" Mateo asked, slinging his G36.
"Maybe," Quentin said, holding up his PDA, "The truck is parked in this garage about eight blocks north of us. A small team could get up there and get it."
"That’s a pretty infested area," Mateo commented, "What good’s getting the truck going to do us? We’re not going to be able to drive out of the city."
"No, but it will get us to the docks," Quentin said, highlighting some streets. "Trying to go this way would be suicide on foot, but the truck with some shooters on the roof could make it. I checked the marina. A lot of boats left, but there are a couple of nice yachts and some speedboats. If we can get out into the Black Sea, we should be able to get some help from M&W." Mateo thought about it for a moment.
"Okay. Take Jim, Jess, and Billy. Let Jim drive the truck and have Jess up top with her rifle," Mateo said. "Get in, get the truck, and get back. Don’t waste time fighting unless you don’t have a choice." Mateo motioned for the Jess and the cowboy to join them. The large spirit wolf trotted happily behind Jess. Mateo filled them in on the plan and sent the team off.
Jim took the lead. The cowboy was missing his normal rifle and revolvers, but he was handling the AK proficiently. Quentin came behind him with his Colt 10mm in one hand and a four foot length of rebar in the other. Quentin understood Jim missing his normal weapons. Quentin really wanted his normal warhammer. If they came across a hardware store, Quentin was going to get a sledge. Jess and Billy brought up the rear. Jess had her rifle slung and was holding her pistol in a low ready. The quartet slinked through the streets.
Mateo and the rest of the team was busy making as much noise as they could to draw as many of the undead to their position as possible. Even two blocks over, Quentin could hear the gunfire and explosions. Quentin didn’t know how Mateo’s group was blowing stuff up and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. It was doing the trick. The small alleys were deserted as they made their way north to the truck. They’d gone about halfway to the garage when the alley they were using suddenly opened into a small courtyard that had been converted to a parking lot. In the center of the courtyard were four Truth sorcerers chanting around what looked like a small version of the stone table the Truth used back in Wyoming a year or so ago. Billy growled as he stepped into view.
"Well, as I live and breathe, how did you manage to find me Nate?" asked one of the sorcerers. The sorcerer turned around and pulled off his elaborate gold and feather Aztec headdress. Quentin stared into the scarred visage of Alan, the Truth’s lead sorcerer.
"Just lucky I guess," Jim answered congenially. The tall cowboy slung his assault rifle and cracked his knuckles. "There’s a couple things you need to know though Alan."
"Oh, what?" asked the sorcerer, clearly intrigued. The other three sorcerers were taking up positions behind their leader.
"First, I just go by Jim these days. I put Nate behind me," Jim said.
"Sad, but understandable. I take it things didn’t work out with her," Alan asked, looking sincerely compassionate to his one-time friend and now enemy. "What’s the second thing, Jim?"
"I aim to end you here and now." The courtyard crackled with electricity as the battle began.
Friday Quote – George Bernard Shaw
Beware of false knowledge; it is more dangerous than ignorance.
Year End Wrap Up – 2021
So, yeah, I thought 2020 was a year of change for the Ward Family. This year made that look like a little piker.
Of course, the big change was moving into the new house back in April. We’ve had a lot of shakedown issues. The flooring was certainly the biggest issue, as we weren’t sure if we were going to have the new floors down before the furniture arrived. Then getting my standing desk working. Then waiting on the fridge we paid for. Then waiting on the couch for months before cancelling that going with something else. Then issues with the dryer vent. Then internet and mesh issues. However, since The Wife and I over-saved for the move and associated costs, we ended up with enough cash for a couple of “luxury” goods. Mine was my new CZ Bren 2MS rifle.
The good thing about moving into Ward Manor is that the new space came in very handy when The Wife changed jobs. Last year, The Wife lost her job of twenty years. Fortunately, she found a new job in less than a month, but it required a commute to Mulberry (about 45 mins away). It was also a pretty steep pay cut. Well, her boss at the first job (her favorite boss) found a new job, found himself in need of someone with her unique skillset, and offered her a position. A fully telework position. With a salary about what she was making at the old job. It’s been interesting and somewhat challenging for The Wife to join and learn about her new company completely virtually, but she enjoys her new job. Plus, with our home offices right next to each other, we can consult each other on Excel issues or just bounce ideas off of each other.
The new space also came in handy when The Mother-In-Law needed to move in. The Father-In-Law’s dementia progressed to the point where MIL couldn’t take care of him. We found a really good facility nearby, but it ain’t cheap. It was a very difficult decision for the MIL, but she took up residence at Ward Manor. The transition has been relatively smooth, and I’m happy to see so much stress lifted off the MIL’s shoulders. We also ended up with her old fridge in our garage. So, I now have a drink fridge and stand-up freezer out there. It’s come in handy for stocking up.
Prior to the move, we lost one of our cats. Bean was our oldest cat, and he’d been diagnosed with cancer. The vet told us he most likely wouldn’t make it to see the new house. Still, we hoped. Then, we had to make that dreadful decision. Bean didn’t make it to see the new house, but he resides there.
While there have been some changes at the day job, my primary tasks really haven’t changed much. So, it’s mostly the same daily grind. So, at least one area with not much changes.
I’m hoping 2022 settles down a bit.
The Rogue Warrior Leaves
Over the weekend came news that Richard Marcinko passed away. Marcinko was the first commander of SEAL Team Six, the Navy’s elite counterterrorism unit. He detailed his Navy career in his autobiography Rogue Warrior.
Marcinko wrote a few action novels after that. They had a profound impact on my writing. Early iterations of Ranger from Badmoon Rising were little more than my attempts to copy what I read.
Fair winds and calm seas Demo Dick.
Monday Fiction – Zombie Strike Part 10 Chapter 102
Odessa, Ukraine; 4 October 2011, 0900 hours local; Countdown: 2 months, 27 days
Quentin McLintock waited patiently in the viewing room. The room was a cold, gray utilitarian thing. It was much like the rest of the museum, a left-over from the dark days of Soviet architecture, where the only positive trait was durability. Maybe not, Quentin thought, as the harsh fluorescent light flickered above.
"Mr. McLintock," one of the assistant curators said walking into the room. The man was meticulously dressed in an expensive Italian suit. "I’m sure that I don’t have to explain the proper procedures for handling such a rare artifact." The man’s perfect Oxford English held the perfect note of condescension.
"No, you don’t," Quentin answered flatly. He didn’t quite loom over the much smaller Ukrainian man, but Quentin made his displeasure felt. The assistant curator gave a weak smile as he backed away. Quentin let the silence linger on a moment past uncomfortable.
"Where is the tablet?" Quentin asked. As if in answer, two guards stepped into the room holding a heavy steel box between them. Grunting, the guards placed the box on the metal table with an audible clank. Quentin donned an apron, mask, and surgical gloves as the assistant curator unlocked the steel box.
"You can leave now," Quentin said pointedly.
"I’m not comfortable with leaving such a rarity without proper supervision," the assistant curator said.
"That’s not the deal my employers made with your board," Quentin said, "The endowment was made on the contingent that I was given full and unimpeded access to anything I wanted." The assistant curator waved the two guards outside. As soon as the door shut, the small man spun and leveled a small pistol at Quentin.
"I don’t know why Zombie Strike wants the tablet, but you won’t succeed," the man snarled. Quentin kept his eyes locked with the other man. He needed the man to focus on him.
"You’re not a Champion," Quentin commented. The man laughed. It sounded slightly hysterical. Not a good sign.
"No, I’m not one of those fools," the assistant curator said, "I’m just one of Dr. de Castilla’s friends. Now are you going to surrender peacefully or am I going to have to kill you?"
"Neither," Quentin answered and pointed behind the assistant curator. Sport emerged from the shadows cradling a shotgun.
"You mind not pointing that thing at my mate?" Sport asked, "Otherwise I might have to end you here." The man was frozen with fear as he stared at the twelve-gauge’s gaping maw. Quentin snatched the pistol out of the man’s hand before slugging him across the face. Quentin could feel the shattering of the jaw as the man crumpled to the ground.
"That is why I don’t want to spar with you," commented Sport as he slung the shotgun. Quentin placed the handgun on the table and turned back to the tablet. Sport would handle securing the prisoner. Quentin had work to do. The Chekotsy Tablet was maybe three feet long and two feet wide. The hieroglyphs that were etched into its stone surface were radically different than anything else from Mesoamerica. It was used as evidence by all manner of conspiracy theorists from UFO enthusiasts to people looking for Atlantis. Quentin pulled out the small gold medallion Chief Stahl recovered in Barcelona. The tablet and the medallion shared many of the same symbols.
"How did Castle know to come here?" Quentin asked himself, "Why did he need to come here?" Quentin grunted with exertion as he lifted the tablet out of the steel box. It must have weighed a good hundred pounds. What kind of stone was this made out of?
"You have found the next part of the path," the Guardians chorused, floating through the walls and hovering in the viewing room. The viewing room fell away. As reality came back into focus, Quentin was standing in a hospital room. It reminded Quentin of the museum. Dirty linoleum and neutral walls were lit by sterile white lights. The younger Castle was standing next to one of the six hospital beds in the room. The occupant was covered in bandages from head to foot, almost like a modern-day mummy. Castle looked down at the man with a sorrowful expression.
"Why did you have to try and kill me Michael?" Castle asked quietly.
"You’re going to destroy everything," the wounded man said in a painful whisper.
"No, I’m going to save this world from destruction," Castle said, "There’s just some distasteful things that need to be done before that can happen."
"The firm will stop you," the wounded man replied. Castle laughed. A cold, sorrowful laugh that seemed to come almost against his will.
"Why not threaten me with the Knights of Malta?" Castle asked, "They have as much a chance to stop me as your precious MacKenzie and Winston." Quentin’s eyes widened in shock. How long had M&W been involved in fighting the Truth?
"Michael, we’ve been friends for years. I hate seeing you like this. Let me help you," Castle said, pleadingly, "You don’t want to spend your remaining time in this place, do you?" There was a long silence. It was finally broken by Michael’s quiet sobs.
"No," Michael whispered. "Dear Lord, Miguel, don’t let me die in this hellhole." Castle gripped his friend’s bandaged hand.
"Michael Winston, do you willingly accept service in the Truth and accept Xipe Totec as your god?"
"Yes," came the soft reply.
"Do you accept the path that is set before you? Will you walk it until the moment of Truth?"
"Yes." With that word, Castle pulled out the gold medallion he’d retrieved in Barcelona. Reverently, Castle placed the metal disk on his friend’s chest as he mouthed a silent prayer. The medallion glowed, softly at first but grew in intensity until Quentin couldn’t look at it. As soon as Quentin could see, Michael was hovering over the bed. The other patients in the room were screaming in terror.
Quentin watched transfixed as the bandages dissolved. Michael’s body was a mess of burns and deep gashes. The glow from the medallion surrounded the destroyed body and pulsed. Michael’s skin sealed the wounds. The burns melted away to reveal healthy skin. In a few seconds, all of the grievous injuries were completely gone. The pulsing increased. Michael’s body stretched. New muscle expanded as Michael’s body grew and reformed. Quentin suddenly realized what he was seeing. The pulsing stopped suddenly. Michael landed onto the tile floor in a crouch. The gold medallion was imbedded in his chest. He slowly rose to his new seven foot height, marveling at his new body. Castle gave his friend a tired smile.
"You are now my Great Champion," Castle said, "Welcome to the world Mikhail."
Friday Quote – Oscar Wilde
To live is the rarest thing in the world, most people just exist.